


Shades of Blue

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mortal, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Community: theoldguardkinkmeme, Developing Relationship, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Interracial Relationship, POV Nile Freeman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26841448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: [Modern Widower!Booker AU.] Nile briefly meets a friend of Joe’s, only to learn later that his life is far more complicated than she could’ve ever imagined.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Booker | Sebastien le Livre's Wife, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 66
Kudos: 266
Collections: Book of Nile Collection!





	Shades of Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I’m mired in seven other Book/Nile WIPs but for some reason [this prompt](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3653.html?thread=1123653#cmt1123653) wouldn’t leave my head after I saw it on the pinboard. I had to get it out. Kudos to the prompter & I hope they enjoy this if they see it. (FYI, I always write Booker as having four sons instead of three since I prefer comic canon in that regard.) And now, all aboard the Booker Depression Express, choo-choo...

It is autumn in Chicago and the leaves are just beginning to fall from the trees the first time Nile sees him. It is at one of those seasonal little pop-up bars she loves: an otherwise abandoned city lot transformed by way of flowers, trees, and some outdoor furniture into a hipster’s happy hour paradise. It’s late enough in the season that the place isn’t so crowded anymore, though of course the food and drinks are as overpriced as ever. 

She spots Joe after a few seconds of searching; he’s standing off to the right with a man Nile has never seen before. He’s white, with short brown hair and a thick stubble that seems to be well on its way to becoming a full-fledged beard. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black leather jacket and from this distance, he looks to have a few inches as well as a few years on Joe, though Nile wouldn’t say either is a detriment. He’s talking animatedly, gesticulating furiously while Joe just stands there shaking his head, both hands over his face. Nile smiles to herself as she approaches, wondering what in the world they could possibly be talking about.

As she gets nearer, and realizes they aren’t even speaking English, she slows down, not wanting to interrupt. But Joe has spotted her by now, and he waves her over with a tired smile, still deep in conversation with his friend. Nile sizes up the stranger as she approaches, pleased she got here before Nicky. She’s already planning how she’ll tease him about this handsome friend of Joe’s when suddenly the man in question is making his goodbyes.

“Oh, you don’t have to go,” Nile says quickly, suddenly wishing she could apologize properly in French. “I didn’t mean to barge in and interrupt your conversation—”

“You are fine,” the man assures her, switching smoothly to English. “I actually have to be on my way. I only stopped in to say hi because I saw Joe from the street.”

She has a moment of disconnect when he speaks, for she was expecting some sort of accent. But his English is as flawless as his French sounded.

“Right,” she says a moment too late. The man has already hugged Joe in farewell and is stepping away. Nile doesn’t know why, but she feels the inexplicable need to say something—anything—to keep him around for a moment more. “Well—it was nice meeting you.”

“You as well.”

He nods goodbye at her in such a way that makes Nile think that, were he wearing a hat, he might’ve doffed it in her direction. The thought makes her smile as she watches him go. He moves easily amidst the couples and small groups, and if he were a few inches shorter, he might’ve disappeared in the crowd on his way out. But he’s tall enough that Nile can follow his progress all the way to the exit—and she can even catch his eye when he glances back over his shoulder. There’s the briefest tug at the corner of his mouth when their eyes meet, just before he disappears, and though Nile knows better, she can’t help but wonder if perhaps that last look was meant for her.

She’s still smiling at the possibility when Joe—who she hadn’t even realized stepped away—returns with drinks for both of them. 

She takes a grateful swallow of the beer, relishing the alcohol after a long day at work.

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” she says.

“Ah.” Joe smiles ruefully. “Not very well anymore, as you were probably able to tell. He likes to test me.”

“You sounded fine to me.” She waits what she hopes is a casual amount of time before asking, “Who was that guy, by the way? I don’t think I’ve seen him with you before.”

“That was Book. Old friend.”

“Old friend as in…?” She trails off suggestively, shimmying her shoulders, and he snorts, shaking his head.

“Nothing like _that_ , no.”

“You _sure_?” she teases. “You two seemed to be having a _very_ tense conversation before I showed up. You know how I hate to interrupt a lovers’ quarrel.”

“Ha! We were arguing about _football_ , Nile. The French national team destroyed ours over the weekend. He showed up to brag.”

“Oh.” Nile scowls. “You mean soccer. Boring.”

“Sorry there’s no love affair to interest you.”

“Well…” Nile affects an exasperated sigh. “I’ll manage, _somehow_.”

“Glad to hear it.”

They talk about school then, trading the usual complaints about students and teachers, assignments and grading, until Nicky arrives an hour later. By that time, it’s gotten dark, and the heat lamps are burning hot and bright. Nile, selfishly, took the seat nearest one as soon as they were able to grab a table. She comforts herself with the knowledge that Joe runs hot and his husband always wears enough layers for two.

Nicky touches Nile’s shoulder in hello and then slides into the open spot next to Joe, as seamlessly as if he had been there all along. He’s that odd mix of mentally wired and physically exhausted that comes at the end of a shift in the ER, and it takes him half a drink before he can join in on the conversation. By then, they’ve moved to discussing how they each plan to survive the coming months now that the Chicago winter is creeping ever closer.

“Malta,” Nicky replies without missing a beat, and Nile laughs, wondering why she expected anything else. The two of them are forever disappearing to exotic destinations, each more outlandish than the last.

“You should come along sometime,” Joe suggests, when Nile confirms that she will, as usual, be staying in town for the remainder for the year. “We could get you a ticket.”

“Ah.” Nile shakes her head with a smile, looking down at her drink. “Maybe next time.”

Conversation snags for a moment, as it always does at times like these. Nile does her best not to discuss money much around them, though it always finds a way to poke its head in when she least expects it. In all this time, she still has not found an easy way to combat the awkwardness. It’s a miracle she’s managed to pay for grad school; she can’t imagine ever being able to spend so casually on a vacation the way she knows they often do.

Not that she resents them. Far from it, especially considering how generous they are, always paying for her whenever the three of them are out like this. They have plenty of excuses to cover their do-gooding—there are two of them, and one of her; it is just simpler this way, with the tab already open; she is young and should be saving money… The list goes on and on. Nile has stopped saying thank-you; she knows she can never say it enough. Instead she just tries to be good company, and hopes that’s enough.

“All right,” Joe breaks the silence, getting to his feet. “I don’t know about you two, but all this drinking is making me hungry. Food?” He points from one to the other. “Usual? Same as ever?”

All they have to do is nod, and he’s off without another word, their empties in his hands and their orders in his mind. Nile watches him go with a smile, remembering when they met at the Art Institute during her second year. She did not expect that she and Joe would still be in each other’s lives years later, let alone that she would be sitting across from his husband, drinking and talking about international vacation plans.

Which makes her remember the man from before. “You ever been to France, Nicky?” she asks, propping up her cheek with one hand.

“Oh, yes. A few times.”

“When did you first go? Where’d you visit?”

“Hmm. Well, I went for the first time to Paris with Joe. I think it was a year after we started seeing each other? But he’s been there much more than I have—all over the country, too. He studied in Marseille in high school, an exchange program. He’s gone back pretty regularly ever since.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

Nicky tilts his head to the left, the way he always does when he thinks he’s missed something. “Sorry. What makes sense?”

“Oh, nothing, I just—I met a friend of Joe’s earlier, Book? They were arguing in French about some soccer game when I showed up. I was wondering what the story was there.”

“ _Booker_ was here?” Nicky asks sharply. “Today?”

“Yeah...” Nile answers slowly, eyeing the intense look on Nicky’s face with confusion. She remembers the way Joe shrugged off the man’s appearance earlier, and she wishes she could kick herself. Perhaps she really _did_ interrupt something between them. “Why? Does that matter?” Hoping she isn’t stepping into anything delicate, she hesitates a second before adding, “Joe said he was just an old friend.”

“Mm.” Nicky bobs his head absently, as if contemplating the idea for the first time. “Yes, he is an old friend.”

Nile waits for more, but when he still doesn’t elaborate, she adds pointedly, “Joe said they never dated.”

“What?” The comment seems to jolt Nicky back to reality. “Oh, no, no, no, they did not date.”

“So…?” Nile draws out the word. “What’s going on here? Why are you both acting so cagey about him? Do you and him not get along? Is that why Joe didn’t mention him?”

“No, no. It is not like that.”

Nicky draws in a deep breath, folding his hands together atop the table, and Nile waits patiently, watching as he gathers his thoughts. She can practically see his mind at work beneath the creases of his forehead, and though she tries, she cannot begin to imagine what could be so hard to explain about the man she saw earlier that it takes this sort of preparation to talk about.

“Nile, do you have people in your life that… that it just _hurts_ to think about? You want so much better for them, and they—sometimes through no fault of their own—simply cannot get to a better place?”

Nile purses her lips in lieu of answering. She and Nicky are close, but not that close. “This Book, Booker, whatever-his-name-is; he’s like that for you?” she asks.

Nicky nods. He opens his mouth to say more, but just then, Joe returns to the table, passing out drinks.

“They’ll bring the food over in a bit,” he reports, and when that isn’t met by the usual enthusiasm, he looks between the two of them. It only takes a second for him to sense the mood in the air. He glances sideways at his husband. “What did I miss here? Did someone die on you today?”

“Yes, as it happens, but that is not the point,” Nicky replies. “In this case, we were discussing an old friend of yours.”

Understanding sweeps across Joe’s face in an instant. His voice is very quiet when he says, “You were telling her about Book, weren’t you?”

“I was getting there, unless you would like to start.” Nicky takes the beer offered and promptly buries his face in it, making the decision for both of them.

Joe sighs, setting his aside as he faces Nile head-on. “There’s a lot to explain,” he begins, “and not much of it is pretty. I don’t want to drag down your night with this. We can talk about something else.”

“If you don’t want to tell me,” Nile replies, “you don’t have to.”

He hardly seems to hear her. She watches his face as he stares at something over her shoulder. She’s just about to tell him to forget it when he speaks.

“Book was the first of my friends to get married,” Joe begins quietly, and even as she waits for whatever bomb is about to drop, Nile can’t help but hear a little voice in the back of her head go, _Damn_. She had not thought of him as someone’s husband, but of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be? The beautiful people are always spoken for.

“He and Joanna got married pretty young,” Joe continues, and Nile forces herself to push aside her petty disappointment and focus. “Not at eighteen or anything, but still young. They’d known each other nearly all their lives, and they’d been dating for years, so marriage just seemed like the logical next step for them, everyone agreed. Nobody even blinked when he proposed after college. And then, a few years after they married, there was François.”

Nicky mutters something under his breath in Italian to Joe, who laughs softly in return.

“He’s right,” he says to Nile. “Ugliest baby in the world, that kid. But boy, they loved him. And he grew out of his infant ugliness, don’t you think?”

“Sì, sì,” Nicky allows.

“Two years after François there was Théo.”

“Now _he_ was cute,” Nicky interjects. “Happiest baby in the world, Théo was. I swear, he smiled from the moment he was born. Blondest baby you’ve ever seen, too. Like a highlighter. _Blinding_ in the sun, though. You needed sunglasses to look at him.”

Nile smiles at the thought.

“Sasha—Alexander—was third, almost three years exactly after Théodore. Their birthdays are only—”

“Wait a minute,” Nile cuts in. “What is that, three boys in five years? And they’re still in their twenties at this point, right? I’m sorry, but are they insane? Or just really horny when it comes to unprotected sex?”

Joe chuckles, scratching his beard. “Yeah, uh, to be honest we did start to worry around then that they’d just _keep_ _on_ having kids. We weren’t sure if they knew how to stop. I had to drop half a dozen hints to Joanna before she finally pulled me aside and said, _Do you really think I’d go through labor this many times without wanting the prize I get at the end?_ Put me in my place. Never questioned her parenting decisions after that.”

“Oh, I like her,” Nile grins. “Anybody who can shut you up is a winner in my book.”

She looks between the two of them, but neither smiles back. It isn’t often her teasing falls on unresponsive ears. She chews the inside of her cheek self-consciously, waiting for the rest. It takes Joe a few tries before he can continue, and Nile doesn’t miss the way Nicky’s hand rises to rub his back in encouragement.

“And then, um… Finally, a couple years later, there was Jean-Pierre.”

Nile thinks she finally knows where this story is going from the way both Nicky and Joe are suddenly incapable of looking her in the face.

“Oh, shit,” she whispers. “Did he—”

“Please just let me get to it at my own pace,” Joe snaps, and Nile flinches at the order, never having heard him sound like this before. All at once, she decides it is best to just shut her mouth until this is over.

She waits, holding her tongue, but Joe does not speak. After a few minutes, it gets so hard watching him try and fail that she stares down at the table instead. The only thing stopping her from trying to change the subject is his voice reverberating in her head.

Nicky, finally, is the one who gets the words out.

“Five years ago,” he says softly, “Joanna went into sudden cardiac arrest while she was teaching at Northwestern. She was dead within minutes, before the paramedics even got there.”

“Oh my god,” Nile whispers.

“She was _thirty-five_ ,” Joe chokes out, drowning out whatever Nicky was going to say next. “She was _my age_ ,” he says, driving a finger into his own chest to emphasize each word. “She was the same age as I am now, and she had four kids. A husband who _adored_ her. Friends all over, family back home, a career in the States. A whole _life_ still to live, and just like that, she was—”

He breaks off, shoving himself to his feet when he can’t speak anymore. Nile watches him go in silence, suddenly wishing so badly that she’d never taken him up on the offer to meet him here after class. As other tables turn to stare at them, Nile ducks her head, facing forward once more. Nicky’s sorrowful eyes meet hers across the table.

“It was so very awful,” he says quietly. “She was lecturing in front of undergrads at the time, and they thought she just passed out at first. You know, low blood sugar or something. They tried to revive her, and when they realized she didn’t have a pulse, they started CPR. Someone called 911, but by the time they found a defibrillator, it was too late. It happened so quickly; there was nothing anyone could do.”

He is saying the words so mechanically that Nile can’t help but think he’s said them a thousand times—to Booker, to Joe, to himself. Nile doubts they have absolved any of them of their guilt.

“Booker was visiting her parents in Aix-en-Provence at the time. He had the boys with him; they’d flown out a few days before. Joanna had one more class to teach and then she was getting on a plane to join them.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Nile whispers.

When Nicky nods, she can see the tears hanging in his eyes, reflecting the lights around them. “So. Instead of taking three weeks of well-deserved vacation, he turned around and caught the first flight back, and began making funeral arrangements. His parents and in-laws came with the boys a few days later. We buried her that week and it was... Well, it was as terrible as you can possibly imagine, Nile. Jean-Pierre wasn’t even in kindergarten yet; too young to really understand what was happening. I don’t think Sasha understood much more. François, meanwhile, was trying to be a man at eleven, with Théo following his lead like always…” 

Nicky shakes his head, wiping his cheeks quickly.

“I see the most horrific things every day at work, and I can quite honestly say there is nothing worse than that day. It is burned in my memory. He… He could hardly speak at her funeral, Booker, but I still remember every word he said. He blamed himself the entire time, and not one person stood up to stop him. Not me, not Joe, not his parents, nor hers. We all just let it happen. He was dying in front of us and we just _watched_. We didn’t even—oh,” he breaks off suddenly, forcing a smile as the waitress deposits their meals. “Thank you.”

“Thanks,” Nile echoes weakly. Once the waitress is gone, Nile pushes her food aside. She doesn’t feel very hungry anymore.

Across the table, Nicky blows his nose into a napkin.

Nile glances around, to give him a moment, but she can’t see Joe anywhere nearby.

“Do not worry,” Nicky says, drawing her attention back. “He needs some time to himself. It is harder for him; he knew Joanna for over half his life. He will come back once we are done.”

Nile swallows hard, not having realized there was anything worse to come. She sits patiently and waits, giving Nicky a minute to catch his breath and his bearings. She swallows some more of her beer just for something to do, but it tastes indescribably sour now.

“There’s more?” she asks finally, when she can’t take the silence anymore.

“Yes,” Nicky answers heavily. “Yes, there is.”

Nile watches as Nicky finishes off the rest of his beer. When he sets it aside and opens his mouth, she gets the distinct impression that he is speaking to her with his doctor voice—the gentle, firm tone of voice he reserves only for bereaved family members. And she feels like one, listening to him.

“Eight months after his mother’s funeral, Jean-Pierre was diagnosed with a particularly aggressive form of pediatric brain cancer.”

Nile closes her eyes, as if she can stop herself from hearing this. As if she can make it all untrue.

“Parents do not have favorites, of course,” Nicky whispers. “But we all knew Jean-Pierre was special to him. Every child is a link back to their parents, but Jean-Pierre… You couldn’t look at him without immediately thinking of Joanna. Joe and I thought it would kill Book, seeing that boy every day after she died. But somehow… Somehow Jean-Pierre and the other boys got him through it. Knowing they depended solely on him got him out of bed in the morning. Kept him going to work. Kept him acting like things were going to be okay, even when I’m sure he felt like dying too. And then after Jean-Pierre was gone…”

Nicky heaves a sigh.

“Well, you only need to walk into his house to see the effect it has had on him. He keeps the boy’s room like a shrine. It is spotless, everything in its place, and no one goes in it but him.” Nicky closes his eyes. “Well, that is until his last girlfriend decided tough love was the best route, and he walked in on her in the process of cleaning it all out.”

“Oh _no_.”

“Yeah. To say that relationship ended badly is an understatement.” Nicky smiles sadly. “I do not think he has dated since, and to be quite honest, I do not blame him. I can’t imagine feeling strong enough to let someone into your life after all that, and then they turn around and...” He shakes his head. “Some things are too terrible for words. I wish—for both our sakes’—that Booker would stop rendering me speechless. He is a good man, but he has been dealt an especially horrific hand.”

Nile murmurs her agreement, knowing there is nothing she could possibly add that could be of any worth. For a while, the two of them sit there, picking at their cold food, until eventually Joe reappears. Nile pretends to be very interested with the shape of her fingernails when Nicky leans over to hold him and kiss his temple.

“Sorry,” Joe says to Nile after they pull apart. “I didn’t mean to lose it on you earlier. It’s just… I’ve never really had to tell the story to anyone before. I didn’t realize how hard it would still be to talk about Joanna.”

“She was your friend and you miss her,” Nile whispers. “I get it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do miss her. And she was my—I don’t know. Friend, yes. But ever since she died, that doesn’t seem like a big enough word.”

“What about him?” Nile asks hopefully. “Is he still your friend?”

She can’t imagine going through such things, especially not alone and so far from family. More than anything, after hearing all this, she hopes he can still count on Joe and Nicky. She knows better than most what good friends they can be.

“Yes,” Joe answers firmly. “Book is definitely still a friend. He’ll always be a friend, no matter what. It’s been hard to see him recently—what with how busy he is with the boys, and Nicky and I with work—but this is just a reminder that I should try harder. Seeing him today… It was the best kind of shock. I always knew he had offices nearby, but I can’t remember the last time I saw him out.”

“He looked good?” Nicky asks, picking at a few fries on his plate.

Joe nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. A second later, he laughs, throwing up his hands. “What am I talking about? _Yes!_ ” he repeats emphatically, slapping the table. “Book looked great. He cut his hair—finally stopped doing that awful slicked-back thing—and he’s wearing clothes that actually fit him again. He was _smiling._ We talked about the match—”

“Ahh, _now_ I see why he was in such a good mood when you saw him earlier,” Nicky laughs. “When you win six–nil like that—”

“All right, I don’t need sass from _you_ about it too,” Joe mutters.

“Anyone hit on him while he was here?” Nicky wonders, his tone so casual that Nile chokes on her drink mid-sip.

“What?” Joe turns to her. “You see something earlier? Did he meet someone after he left?”

“No, no, I was just… not expecting that to be the follow-up question.”

“Well, it’s been ages since he broke up with that horror of a woman,” Joe replies. “He needs a rebound.”

“How do you know he hasn’t gotten one?” Nile asks. “Just because he hasn’t told you about it…”

“Excellent point,” Nicky agrees. He nudges his husband. “Joe, call him and ask. This is the information we need to know if we are to be more attentive friends going forward.”

“What?” Joe laughs. “No. No, I am not calling him to ask if he’s had sex in the last year. Absolutely not.”

“Fine. If you will not, then I will. He always prefers to talk to me about women anyway.”

“Oh my god.” Nile covers her mouth, watching in disbelief as he reaches for his phone.

Joe mutters something under his breath in Italian that Nile can’t translate, but from the vindictive way Nicky stares at his husband as he hits the call button, Nile assumes it’s something along the lines of _You’re an imbecile_.

It only takes a few seconds for the line to connect, and then Nicky is babbling into his cell in French. Nile can only pick out a couple words here and there, and none of the important ones, but from the way Joe buries his face in his hands midway through, Nile can be certain Nicky lived up to his threat.

“So?” she asks the second he hangs up. “What did he say?”

“He says—and I quote—‘I am in the middle of helping my son prepare for an algebra exam. How dare you speak to me about sex, now or ever.’”

“And what did you say?”

“I said, ‘How do you think you got those sons of yours in the first place, you miserable prude?’” Nicky smiles proudly as Nile dissolves into laughter across the table. “Then he hung up on me, of course.”

“That’s nice, though,” she manages once she’s surfaced. “That he’s still able to be with his kids. Helping them with homework and all that.”

“That and going to work are about all he ever does,” Joe mutters.

“Baby steps,” Nicky chides. “Give him time. You don’t know what it’s like to go through what he’s gone through.”

“I know, I know. I just…” He sighs, glancing at Nile. “Look, you have to understand, when you’ve seen someone _so_ happy all your life, it is… impossible to see them so broken all of the time. You just want so much more for them, even if that means shoving them so far out of their comfort zone that—” He breaks off suddenly, and then a smile spreads over his face that looks just as dangerous as the one that graced Nicky’s a moment ago. “I have an idea.”

“Oh, yes? What now? Fair warning, I do not think Booker will take another call from us tonight.”

“I think we should set him up.”

“With _who_?”

“I am getting to that part,” Joe replies. He turns very pointedly to Nile in a way that makes her stomach twist. “Nile, tell me. Do you happen to know of any older women in your life looking for—”

“For _what_?” Nicky interrupts. “A grief-stricken widower? How can we possibly pitch him in a flattering light to anyone we know?”

“We don’t need to pitch him! He’s a catch! He’s got money, a good job, a nice house—”

“Three kids, a mountain of grief…”

“He’s handsome! And he’s French! Women like that, don’t they? Nile,” Joe calls again, as if just remembering her, “you’re a woman—”

“I am indeed.”

“Oh, don’t ask _her_ , Joe; she’s half his age.”

“She isn’t _half_ —”

“He’s handsome,” Nile cuts in, just to stop that line of conversation. “If that’s what you’re asking, then the answer is yes. As for the French thing, well…” She shrugs. She’s never been particularly interested in the language, but she certainly wouldn’t mind if the man in question were whispering it in her ear. “Clichés are clichés for a reason, right?”

“ _See_?”

“Fine, fine,” Nicky surrenders. “We will discuss candidates later. For now, I have a cold dinner to eat and a shift to forget about. Let us talk about something entirely trivial to close out the night, please. Joe, perhaps you can tell us about your work.”

The months pass, and as the end of the year comes and goes, Nile finds she can’t quite forget about Joe’s friend, or all she learned about him throughout that evening. She’ll forget about him for weeks at a time, and then she’ll hear a snippet of French on the street, or she’ll see a father with his children, and she’ll be reminded all over again. When she spends Thanksgiving at home, she can’t help but wonder if a certain French family is celebrating too. Over winter break, as she helps her mother decorate the tree, she remembers the first year they celebrated without her father, and she can’t imagine what it would’ve been like without her mother.

She is still wondering about him, on and off, come late February, when she drags herself out into the cold and across town to Nicky and Joe’s new apartment. She makes the trip half full of hope and half full of dread. While she loves spending time with the couple privately, she’s always felt out of place amongst Joe and Nicky’s larger group of friends. They are all perfectly pleasant—no one has ever said a rude word to her—but she can’t help the feeling of inadequacy that creeps in whenever she’s surrounded by people who have experienced so much more of life than her. They have degrees in things she’s never heard of, have lived in places she can’t even find on a map, and speak more languages fluently than she can even say _Hello_ in. All the worldly perspectives they bring with them just by stepping into a room makes her feel uncomfortable and usually relegates her to silent spectator status in most conversations. Not that they exclude her—in fact, they always go out of their way to speak English in her presence, and ask after her work—but somehow that only makes her feel all the more awkward.

 _An hour_ , she tells herself, staring up at the building she could never live in, in a neighborhood she could never afford. _I’ll just stay an hour_.

She can hear the party the moment she steps off the elevator, and she hopes for Nicky and Joe’s sake they’ve already had a talk with their new neighbors. She takes off her parka, struggling for a moment to balance it and the gift she brought before knocking on the door. She doesn’t know why she bothers—ingrained politeness from her mother, perhaps—and when there is no reply after a few seconds, she tries the knob.

The door is unlocked, but she doesn’t get more than a few steps into the crowded party before being swept off her feet. She yelps, nearly dropping the gift, as Joe wraps his arms around her from behind and swings her about. He’s chanting her name in her ear and she can tell without even looking at him that he’s well and truly drunk. Sober Joe has few inhibitions; drunk Joe has none. She’s always enjoyed the latter’s company whenever she’s feeling off.

“Having fun?” she laughs once he’s set her on her feet.

“We are, yes,” Nicky replies from behind her, and she looks over to see he’s a little pink in the cheeks too. It makes Nile laugh to see—it’s been a while since she’s seen him so carefree.

“Look at you, Nile!” Joe is yelling as Nicky hugs her in that close, firm way that always makes her feel so loved. “You didn’t have to dress up for us!”

Nile buries her face in Nicky’s neck, grateful to have the distraction so she doesn’t have to respond immediately.

She would have come to Nicky and Joe’s housewarming no matter what, but she would be lying if she said she hadn’t gotten dressed with someone in particular in mind. The little black dress she’s wearing is a tried and tested favorite, and she did put it on in the hopes that it would bring some kind of luck tonight. Not to mention the extra time she spent on her hair and makeup.

But, as she circulates throughout the party for the next hour or so, making as much polite small talk as she can manage, she becomes painfully aware that whatever luck the dress might’ve once had has long since worn off. She doesn’t know why she expected him to show in the first place. It’s a Friday night after nine PM—even if he doesn’t have plans of his own, he has kids to take care of.

As she sips her glass of wine and looks out onto the city, she finds herself wondering, just like she did on the night she met him, what he is doing at this exact moment. It’s late, so maybe he’s putting his youngest to sleep. Maybe he’s out on a date with one of the women Nicky and Joe suggested. Or maybe he’s sitting in his dead son’s room, making sure everything is still in its perfect place.

She isn’t good company like this, she knows. Nicky and Joe keep trying to pull her into conversation, with doctors and artists and professors, but she finds she has even less to say tonight than usual. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She has never had someone stick in her mind like this, over so long a period of time and in spite of so little contact.

Eventually, when she has been standing by herself for a good ten minutes, she realizes it’s time to call it quits. She says her goodbyes to Nicky and Joe and waves to some of her other acquaintances at the party before grabbing her coat and heading to the door.

She walks quickly to the elevator, earbuds already in, jabbing her index finger impatiently at the down button until finally the doors open. There is no one waiting inside, but she can’t help that little flash of disappointment when she sees the lift is empty. It always surprises her, how her mind is never quite able to let go of that last bit of hope.

The ride down is smooth and continuous, and as she flies to the ground, music filling her ears, she wonders how best to salvage this night. More alcohol, definitely. Maybe a movie, if her roommates are still at the apartment lazing around. Anything to distract from the stupidity of feeling disappointed when she knows she has no business feeling anything of the sort in the first place.

It isn’t like he stood her up. She never even asked Joe and Nicky if he was coming—she just assumed he was invited, and hoped he would show. She needs to stop doing things like that. Her life would be so much easier if she stopped heaping such unrealistic expectations on other people.

She is too lost in her own head, eyes down and music blasting, that she nearly walks right into someone when she gets off the elevator. 

“Sorry,” she blurts out, moving to sidestep even before she’s fully clocked the face. And then when she does, she stops in her tracks.

He looks much like he did the first time she ever saw him, though his beard is fuller now, and he looks more tired than she remembers. He is wearing a dark wool coat that hangs on him in all straight lines and she can’t help but think of her own puffy parka, wishing—ridiculously—that she had more shapely winter wear.

“Oh, hi again,” she says, rushing to yank out her earbuds. “Booker, right?” She holds out her hand. “I’m Nile. We—well, I guess we never really met, officially, but I ran into you at a pop-up bar downtown back in the fall. Not sure if you remember. You were talking with Joe about the French soccer team when I showed up?”

“Football team, you mean.”

She smiles at the automatic correction. “Right, right. Forgive me.”

“I’ll try, just so long as you don’t make the same mistake twice,” he warns, wholly serious as he shakes her hand, and she decides all at once that she likes him. More than just looks, and in spite of the tragedies she now knows about. There is just something about him that draws her in—enough so that she almost reconsiders leaving the party.

But then, when she thinks of how she would measure up, in front of him and amongst all those better-traveled, more-interesting people upstairs, she knows running is the right choice.

“Well,” she says, flashing one last smile, “I’m glad we got to finally meet.”

And then, as smoothly as she can manage, she slips past him and heads for the street.

“You’re not leaving already, are you?”

Booker’s voice reaches her just as she’s nearing the door, and it causes a surge of excitement so acute it borders on adrenaline. _He’s asking after me!_

“I thought you young people were supposed to be the life of the party,” he adds.

“Ha-ha,” she deadpans, trying to appear calm as excuses cycle through her mind. _I have to study_ is a stupid lie. _I’m not your average young person_ sounds like a weirdly out-of-touch come-on. And she isn’t about to tell him the real reasons she’s ducking out so early.

“I was actually going to get some dinner,” she invents. “Joe and Nicky never have enough food for all the people who show up to these things.” And then, before she can chicken out, she adds, “Do you want to come? I wouldn’t mind company.”

“Oh.” He blinks in surprise. “Um…” 

“You don’t have to say yes,” she covers quickly. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Clearly, you are a responsible party-goer; you brought wine and everything. I shouldn’t be trying to steal you away from the hosts.”

“No, no, I’d love to be stolen away.” He realizes a second too late and laughs at himself. “What I _meant_ to say was food actually sounds good. And I would love to come, if you want company.” He brandishes the bottle of wine he’s carrying. “Let me drop this off and make my excuses, okay? I’ll be right back down.”

“Okay.” Nile smiles, unable to believe her luck. “I’ll be here.”

She settles herself just inside the exit, out of the reach of the wind when it blows in, and she tries not to smile too widely when she catches him looking back her way before he steps on the elevator.

It doesn’t take more than five minutes before he reappears again, sans wine, and meets her at the door.

“So,” Booker says as they step outside into the frigid air. “Where were you thinking of having dinner?”

 _Nowhere_ , Nile thinks, trying not to panic. _I’m not even hungry_.

But then she remembers she passed a diner on the way here, and that seems as good as anything, so she says, “How do you feel about breakfast for dinner?”

They are one of only three other tables at the diner, and the teenage waitress who seats them is openly texting as she hands them their menus, but Nile doesn’t care. In fact, she’s glad the place is empty and the server less-than-attentive. The dress she’s wearing, she thinks as she takes off her coat, might have a bit of luck still left in it.

They order drinks to start—tea for her, and coffee for him—and once the waitress’s focus is back on her phone, Booker slips a flask out of the breast pocket of his jacket, raising his eyebrows in offer.

She grins in surprise, nodding and pushing her tea his way. After making a show of glancing up and down the empty aisle, he pours a small serving into hers, and then his own.

“Mm.” She lifts her mug, breathing in deep before taking a sip. She isn’t usually a fan of whiskey, but in this case, it makes the plain tea all the better. “Thank you.”

For a little while, they sip their drinks in silence, letting their frozen bodies slowly return to room temperature. It is only later, after they’ve ordered, that he speaks.

“So… tell me, do you always leave parties early?”

Nile grimaces, busying herself with another sip of tea to stall for time. He’s still waiting patiently for an answer when she surfaces.

“Not usually,” she admits. “But Nicky and Joe’s set…” She sighs, dropping her shoulders. “Let’s just say I don’t measure up and leave it at that.”

“I can’t imagine that’s true.”

“Oh?” She can’t help but laugh at his attempt at politeness. “And what makes you say that? You, who I’ve known for a total of ten minutes?”

“You’re an artist, aren’t you?”

“I _teach_ art.”

“Well, that’s much better than being a bloodsucking lawyer like me.”

She laughs. “Look, you don’t need to be kind to me. I’ve got so many points against me with that crowd, and I know it. For starters, I’m severely lacking in the linguistics department. Pathetically monolingual around here. I’m surprised they even let me in the door. Secondly, I’m only working on my second degree. I might as well be illiterate by their standards. Thirdly, all of Nicky and Joe’s friends, they’re all just so… so…”

“ _Cool_?” Booker offers.

“Yes! Exactly. They’re too cool for me.”

“Well, if they’re too cool for _you_ , I don’t even want to know what they are for me. But…” He raises his coffee in salute. “Nice to finally have some company in the misfits corner."

Nile smiles, and takes a sip of her tea. It really does taste much better with the whiskey.

“You’ve been friends with Joe a long time, right?”

“Since he was in high school, yeah. He came and stayed with my family in Marseilles, actually. Did an exchange program with my little brother.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Booker chuckles to himself for a moment at some memory. When she asks, he explains, “I’ll never forget that first night Joe was at the house. He came during the summer holidays, so I was home while he was there. My father asked during dinner what he was looking forward to exploring now that he was in France. Joe was trying to be diplomatic, you know: _architecture, art museums, the countryside,_ all that. And my father wasn’t having it, he just kept going, ‘ _Girls too, yes? French girls are very pretty. Very lovely.’”_

“Oh, jeez.”

“Yeah, his pastime during those years was embarrassing the visiting Americans. Still is, come to think of it. And Joe, you know, he was the guest and it was his first night and he was trying to be polite, but my father…” Booker shakes his head. “Well, he isn’t a man easily appeased, let’s say that. So he kept needling, and eventually Joe just put his silverware down and looked right at my father and said, in rather good French mind you, ‘ _Are the boys as pretty here as the girls? Because I have seen the girls but I prefer the boys.’”_

“Oh my god,” Nile whispers into her hands. “How old was he when this happened? Fourteen?”

“Around there, yeah.” Booker laughs, smiling. Nile can’t help but notice how the gesture brightens his entire face. “My parents—fine people, but, you know, decidedly _not_ prepared to have this random American kid announce his homosexuality at the dinner table—were rather scandalized.”

Nile snorts. “Yeah, I bet they were.”

“At first, they assumed it was a translation error. They kept insisting— _les filles, les filles_ —but Joe was very emphatic.” Booker laughs to himself, leaning back in his side of the booth, covering his eyes. “God. I haven’t thought about that in years. I don’t think they left him and my brother alone in a room for more than five minutes the entire time Joe was there.”

“No summer fling between them, then, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Booker laughs. “No, no, no. My brother found himself a girlfriend _very_ quickly that summer.”

“It seems like you and Joe ended up close, though?”

He smirks, catching her eye. “Do I detect a leading question about my sexuality there?”

She grins back. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“Well.” Booker clears his throat. “Joe was sixteen and I was twenty at the time, so, _no_ , nothing happened between us, either.”

“Oh.” Nile grimaces. “I didn’t realize... When you put it like that—”

“Yes, age gaps are much less fun when questions of consent are on the line.”

Nile murmurs agreement, letting the conversation peter out as the waitress arrives with their meals. She spends a few minutes cutting her pancakes into perfect squares, trying not to think too much about what other types of age gaps he might find acceptable. She spears a forkful of pancake, sliding it through a puddle of syrup before looking back up. He is sawing through a waffle in such a serious way that she can’t help but think of Joe all over again.

“Don’t think,” she warns him with a flourish of her fork, “that just because the food arrived, I haven’t noticed the way you sidestepped that question.”

He smiles, keeping his eyes on his waffle as he answers. “You may have to get used to the sidestepping. In addition to practicing law for a living, I enjoy being an international man of mystery.”

Nile snickers. “Please, you don’t have the teeth for it.”

“Oh, good, you’re old enough to get that reference.” He mimics wiping sweat off his brow and then picks up his coffee. “Phew.”

Nile rolls her eyes. “I’m not _that_ young. I’ve seen—wait a minute.” She puts down her silverware. “Just how old do you _think_ I am?”

“Oh, no, no.” He sets down his mug only to raise his hands in surrender. “We are having such a nice time here. Please, I would very much prefer _not_ to play that particular guessing game.”

“I can guess how old _you_ are instead, if that’s more palatable.”

He scowls. “That’s an automatic no. If you even start, I’m getting up and walking out the door.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

She picks up her tea, half hoping it hides her grin, half not caring. He’s smiling back and that’s all that matters.

“So,” she says after she takes a sip, searching for a subject change. “You grew up in France. Can I ask why you left? And how you ended up in Chicago?”

“You mean you can’t guess?” He smiles. “I followed a woman, of course.”

“Ah.” Despite what she knows, the idea still makes Nile feel warm inside. Just the way he says it—so casually, so happily, as if it did not end the way it did. “I would say, _How romantic_ , but I can’t imagine the US is very romantic in comparison with France.”

“Do not put it on a pedestal. Every place has its flaws, as well as its charms.”

“Do you ever think of going back? Permanently, I mean?”

“I used to. A few years ago, I… I did nearly pack everything up and head back, but now…” He shrugs, cupping the side of his face with a hand. “I have a life here. A practice, friends… There’s a lot I would miss if I left.”

Nile nods, busying herself with dragging a piece of pancake back and forth through syrup. She wonders if he’s thinking of his wife and son’s graves the way she is. It has not escaped her notice that he has—without outright lying to her face—avoided mentioning that he has a family. Knowing the truth already, she doesn’t mind the omissions. She can’t begrudge him for wanting to escape reality for a few hours, and tonight, she is happy to let him set their course.

“What about you?” he asks, interrupting her thoughts. “Have you always lived in Chicago, or did you just come here for the Institute?”

“No, Chicago born and bred. South side, mostly.”

“Siblings?”

“I’ve got a younger brother too,” she answers, pleased they have that commonality. “He’s in the military.”

“Which branch?”

“Marines.”

“Wow.” When he whistles, she can’t help the surge of pride in her chest. “Best of the best, huh?”

“So he likes to say,” Nile replies with a roll of her eyes.

“What made him join up? Besides bragging rights?”

“He’s following in my dad’s footsteps. And my uncles’, and my grandad’s, and my… you get the picture.”

“Yes, I do.”

She’s just thinking about asking him what sort of law he practices when the waitress appears to drop off the check and warn them it’s ten minutes until closing. Nile pulls her phone out of her pocket, realizing with a jolt that they’ve been talking for over three hours and it’s after midnight.

“Oh my god,” she yelps, jumping up. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I kept you here so long! I’m sure you wanted to be home hours ago—”

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Booker soothes, but she hardly hears him. All she can think about are those boys of his. She wonders if they’re missing their father—surely he isn’t usually out this late, even on a Friday. She hopes they’re not all alone in his home, wherever that might be. 

“I’m really sorry,” she rushes to say, rifling through her purse for her wallet. “I have no idea why I didn’t check the time—”

“Nile, it’s _fine_. And you don’t need to pay. I can cover—”

“You are not paying for my food, Book,” she cuts in.

“Okay.”

He holds up his hands, easing back into his seat, but still she keeps a wary eye on him as she yanks the check off the table and sets it safely on her side with a credit card on top. She is used to Nicky and Joe snatching checks out from under her, but this one makes it back to the waitress safe and sound.

“Thanks for dinner,” he says later, once she’s signed the receipt and they’re on the sidewalk. “Or breakfast.”

“Guess it can be either, this time of night,” she replies, burying her chin into the collar of her coat “And you’re welcome.”

For a second they stand there, Nile doing her best not to shiver too noticeably. A lifetime spent in Chicago winters, and still the cold always gets to her. Sometimes she wishes she had a thicker skin. She glances over at him, looking very calm and assured in his wool coat, and she wonders how they’re supposed to say goodbye after this. She isn’t even sure what _this_ is.

He saves her from trying to sort it out.

“Can I walk you to the L?” he asks.

She smiles, nodding. “That’d be nice.”

She leads the way, navigating the streets as easily in the dark as she would in the daytime. Every time she thinks of leaving Chicago, she remembers the way this feels—knowing every corner of the city by heart—and she knows she’d never live as well anywhere else.

The board lists the next red line train as being ten minutes away when they arrive at the station, and Nile turns to let him off the hook. “You don’t have to wait with me. It’s late and it’s cold and I’m sure you want to—”

“I don’t mind waiting with you,” he interrupts quietly, “if you don’t mind having me here.”

“I don’t mind that at all,” she whispers. She clenches her hands into fists inside her pockets, just for something to do, and tries not to think about the fact that she feels much warmer now than she did just a minute ago.

They stand together on the platform, shifting whenever the wind changes direction, and sneaking glances at the board. He asks a few questions, no doubt trying to revive the ease of their conversation from the diner, but she’s too nervous to manage more than one-word answers. She can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen when her train arrives.

He isn’t going to kiss her. Of course not. They just met, and besides—it isn’t like this is a date. And yet…

The second the thought enters her mind, she can’t stop thinking about it. Him kissing her. His mouth on hers. His lips and his beard and his tongue—

“Hey, um, Book?”

She has to speak so she won’t scream. She knows the board displaying wait times is hanging over his shoulder, but she refuses to look at it. She doesn’t want to know how much time they have left. She’ll go crazy if it’s more than a minute. She’ll go crazy if it’s less.

“Yeah?”

_Is this a date?_

She can’t say the words. They’re too pathetic, if the answer is no—and too obtuse, if the answer is yes. What moron doesn’t know whether or not they’re on a date? Either way, it’s an insult. Either way, it’s humiliating. She squeezes her eyes shut.

“Nile, is something wrong?”

She forces her eyes open, feeling a stab of guilt so deep it actually hurts. He doesn’t deserve to have to worry about anyone ever again, not after his wife and not after his son. He certainly doesn’t deserve to worry about her and her stupid mind that won’t stop wondering.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she whispers. He has shifted fully to face her now, so much so that he’s blocking out the wind. She likes that he can do that—just make her feel better, feel safer, by stepping a little closer. “Look, um… I know this might not be socially acceptable or the right time or whatever, but, um, I need to say something.” She sucks in a freezing breath, praying for courage. In the corner of her vision, she can see the minutes counting down. “Joe and Nicky told me about your family.”

“Ah.” There is a split-second where his face falls. And then, just as quickly, that gentle smile has smoothed over it. “Of course they did.”

He looks down at the ground as if he has expected as much, and her heart aches for him. The only thing worse than explaining your personal tragedies yourself must be knowing that everyone, even your closest friends, is always talking about it behind your back. Suddenly Nile wishes she’d just kept her stupid mouth shut. But she forces through to her point. She isn’t going to let him walk away and disappear again. She can’t wait another four months and rely on chance just to see him.

“I don’t know what this was tonight,” she continues, struggling to keep her voice calm. “It didn't totally feel like a—a date, at least not at first, but it didn’t feel just friendly either, and now we’re standing here and I’m wondering and…” She trails off, looking at him helplessly. “Look, please just tell me you have a girlfriend or something and put me out of my misery here. I know I’m embarrassing myself.”

“You’re not embarrassing yourself,” he replies, and she wants the world to stop moving for a moment just so she can explore the ramifications of those few perfect words. But he continues on: “To tell you the truth, I was wondering the same thing about—what this was. Usually I am more straightforward about these sorts of things, but… Well, I don’t know how old you are, Nile, but clearly you’re significantly younger than me. We were having a nice time, and I didn’t want to ruin it by being a creepy old man and hitting on you at the end of it.”

“You’re not creepy. And I’m being honest, I’ve been waiting for you to hit on me all night.”

“Sorry,” he winces. “Have you made it obvious?”

“I don’t know, a little bit, maybe.” She laughs at her own downplaying. “Okay, I’m lying. I made it really obvious. Did you see that dress I’m wearing? And my hair? Do you think I look like this all the time? I was hoping you’d show up at Nicky and Joe’s.”

“Shit.” He shuts his eyes, looking pained. “I’m—well, this probably goes without saying, but I am very out of practice when it comes to dating. I’m sorry you went out of your way—”

“Oh, don’t apologize. I’m always building things up in my head like this. Making something out of nothing. It’s my own fault.”

“I do not think it was nothing, at least not for me,” he argues softly, and she feels her whole stomach burn.

It takes a few seconds before either of them can say anything.

“I know you have a lot more to deal with in your life than me, with your sons and everything, but um… maybe I could get your number?” she asks tentatively. “Then we could go out again?”

“Oh. Oh!” His eyes go wide as he finally catches up. “I’d love to give you my number. Um—” He pats his pockets, swearing under his breath, before catching her eye. “Sorry, but do you have a pen?”

She smiles, pulling her cell out of her pocket. “I have a phone.” She unlocks it and holds it out. “Text yourself, then I’ll have your number.”

“Right.” He takes it with an embarrassed smile. “I have done this before, as hard as that may be to believe.”

“I trust you.”

He glances up at her with raised eyebrows as he types. “A little early for that, don’t you think?”

Nile grins, taking her cell back. “Guess we’ll wait and see.”

There’s a moment then, where she thinks it could happen. They could kiss. All she has to do is step forward, just the littlest bit, and surely he will close the gap between them. Surely, if it isn’t _nothing_ between them, he’ll finally make a move and—

The bell announcing the incoming train startles them both, and they jump inside their coats, trading awkward smiles as the brakes squeal along the tracks. They stand and watch, waiting for the noise to die down and the doors to open. Only a handful of people step out, and though Nile wants nothing more than to stay standing next to him, she knows the conductor will leave her stranded without a moment’s hesitation if she dawdles any longer. So she whispers _Bye, Book_ , and starts reluctantly for the train just as the bell _dings_ again in warning.

“Nile, wait, before you go—”

Booker calls out just as she reaches the door, and her eyes snap back to his, ready for—she doesn’t know what. She thinks suddenly that if he asked, she would follow him anywhere in the world at this moment. But of course he does not ask for anything.

“My first name’s Sébastien.” He smiles a little awkwardly. “I thought you should know it in case, you know, you ever call asking for that second date.”

“Right—got it.”

She forces a smile, hoping her embarrassment isn’t showing on her face. How did she meet him _twice_ and somehow fail to ever ask for his real name? _Idiot,_ her mind screams.

“Um, by the way,” she adds, turning back as she steps on the train, “please don’t expect an actual call. We text at my age. Not that you would know.”

She leaves him laughing on the platform, and smiles the rest of the ride home.


End file.
